


The Ravages of Remembering

by agatharights



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Sexual Situations, Child Abandonment, Dysphoria, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mech Preg, Megamom AU B-side, Minor Body Horror, Past Relationships, Tags Subject to Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agatharights/pseuds/agatharights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off StarlightCaptivator's Megamom AU (B-side) because I'm obsessed with this AU where Megatron is Drift's creator, as well as an art prompt I received to draw Deadlock/Ravage kittens.</p><p>Drift and Ravage have a complicated history, one Megatron doesn't rightly know about, and one that Ratchet's growing curious about. Now that they're living in close quarters again, it's time for old injuries to be bought to light and accusations, apologies, and truths to be told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sparkbound](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3815713) by [StarlightCaptivator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightCaptivator/pseuds/StarlightCaptivator). 



> Each chapter has two sections- The Present, which takes place currently on the Lost Light and The Past, which takes place prior to the war. While they'll be labled to keep things neat it's just something to keep in mind.

**The Present**

 

 

“Ratchet.”

 

Ratchet spun on his heel, nearly having a damn spark attack as the voice suddenly cut through the silence of the office, turning to find himself facing a black felinoid sitting upon his desk, patient, as if he hadn’t just appeared out of thin air. Automatically, Ratchet looked to the door- he hadn’t heard it open, it was still closed- how did Ravage get in?

 

“Ravage.” He acknowledged the former spy, forcing himself to relax outwardly even as he looked up at the vents, trying to see if any of them had been pried open. “Do you make it a habit of trying to jump-start people?”

 

“My apologies.” Ravage bowed his head slightly before looking back over Ratchet, tail shifting and body tense. “I...require discretion for a procedure I need, no, _would like_ done.” Now that got Ratchet’s attention, the medic coding in him immediately coming to life as he looked over Ravage, a few passive scans already working.

 

“And what can’t you go to First Aid or Velocity for?” His processor informed him of a few simple facts. Ravage’s fuel levels were acceptable, his energy output slightly high, same for his temperature, and he was crawling with a healthy layer of attention deflector nanites. And…he was giving off heat signals. Subtle ones, well-controlled...but there, nonetheless. “Oh.”

 

“Yes.” Ravage shifted, forepaws kneading against the edge of the desk slightly, flexing. “I can’t override it myself, it requires a medical override. And I’m aware that you have experience with heat coding.” The smaller black mech glanced away, feigning indifference, even though Ratchet knew he must have been inwardly suffering. Heat coding was a tricky little thing, nonexistant for some frametypes- overwhelming for others, and uncomfortable for all those who experienced it.

 

Mostly, Ratchet was surprised that Ravage even had heat coding. It’d become virtually non-existant after four million years of war- it was subdued, or edited, blocked to keep bots on their feet instead of nervously broadcasting and overheating. He wouldn’t have thought the saboteur could have kept heat coding all this time, not when it could be distracting during a mission.

 

“Right. This should only take a few minutes- medical port?” Ratchet pulled the small cord from it’s place under the armor of his inner arm, watching as Ravage shifted to lay down, a small click of armor at the back of his neck, just under his helm, signalling where the plugin was. An odd position, Ratchet thought.

 

“Before you plug in, you should know-” Ravage started, pausing for a moment only when Ratchet placed a hand on his back to keep him steady, a medic’s instinctive gesture of comfort. “-my processor’s frametype coding is...complicated. I’ve been told it’s unpleasant for others to hardline.” Was that a touch of uncertainty in Ravage’s voice? Ratchet couldn’t imagine it, and his fingers flexed, slightly, along Ravage’s spine.

 

“I’m sure I’ve hardlined worse.” Ratchet reassured, and plugged into the back of Ravage’s neck. The nanosecond he opened the connection, however, he understood. “Uh!” A startled grunt, and then he silenced himself- it wouldn’t be good to distress Ravage while he was forming a hardline to go in and override his coding, it would only make things worse. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that your frame was…” Oh, how to put this?

 

It was easy to assume answers from what little he knew about Ravage. Cold-constructed, of course, of a very rare sort. He’d seen cold-constructed bots who were placed in frames meant to mimic mechanimals; it had been considered cruel even back during the height of functionalism- but they’d excused it by saying that even those frames had their uses. But this wasn’t a frame that had been made to _look_ like a cougaraider.

 

“...I wasn’t aware it was possible to transfer a cold spark into a reformatted body like this.” Ratchet finally said, quietly, searching through lines of coding half-foreign to him for the familiar ping of heat coding.

 

“It obviously is.” Ravage sighed, quietly. “It simply holds a very, very high rate of spark rejection. I’m told that I’m the only surviving subject out of several hundred attempts.”

 

The thought gave even Ratchet a cold shiver deep in his frame. The idea of placing a cybertronian’s fully sapient mind into a body meant to look like a mechanimal disturbed him. The very real fact under his hand that they’d actually _used_ a mechanimal’s body, gutted of it’s spark and processor and modified, well...it made his tanks roil and in equal parts his mind light up with curiosity. He pushed those both down, keeping himself professional. However unsettling it was for him, for Ravage...well, he couldn’t imagine what it must be like for him.

 

And to distract him, there it was, the heat coding. Ravage could have ignored it, worked through it, he had no doubt, but it was impossible to remove, hardwired into the body’s processes. It must have been a risk when dealing with a mechanimal’s frame.

 

The medical override took a simple thought and a few minutes to take effect, and Ratchet could feel Ravage’s body cool under his hand, the cassette relaxing suddenly, as he disconnected the hardline and retracted his medical cable.

 

“Thank you.” Ravage practically purred as he sat up again, distractedly running his own systems check. Ratchet waited, arms crossed, deep in thought. He didn’t like the cat. He didn’t like decepticons, in general, and he didn’t like that the feline was still slinking around Megatron’s pedes half the time, sulking about the ship and likely gathering information for all he knew. And yet…

 

“You know that an extensive frame rebuild would let you self-disable the coding?” How had Ravage stayed in this same frame for so long? How and why? “It would probably be healthier for your spark, in the long run. I’m surprised you’re not a mess of complications, at this point.”

 

“I know.” Ravage looked away, suddenly falsely distracted by datapads on the desk. “Someday, maybe, but for now I’m not interested in a new frame.”

 

“Then gestational deactivation.” Ratchet suggested. “If your heat coding activates as often as a cougaraider’s does, it might be a better alternative-”

 

“Thank you for the medical override.” Ravage cut him off, an edge to his voice and audials suddenly tilted low, as he hopped down from the desk and padded to the door, tense irritation suddenly obvious in every movement. “That was all I needed.”

 

Ah, so the conversation was over. Ratchet grumbled and watched as Ravage balanced up on hind legs, a paw against the doorframe to swat the opening panel, only for the door to open before Ravage could press it.

 

“Ratch-” Drift took two long, bold steps through the door with a smile on his face and his eyes on Ratchet before he stopped, and stared at Ravage. Who stared back, eyes narrowed to red slits and tail suddenly raised in an arc over his body. The tension in the office was suddenly suffocating, and Ratchet braced himself, wondering if there would be a fight, an argument, anything- he’d already seen firsthand the discomfort between Drift and Megatron as a creation and carrier, but he’d never considered until this moment that Drift would have known Ravage as well…

 

Ravage looked Drift over, the white-armored mech tense with his hands curled into fists, carefully keeping a neutral expression on his face, before he huffed and, in the way only a four-legged creature could, trotted off indignantly, tail and head held high. Drift relaxed when the door shut and Ravage was out of sight.

 

“What was he in here for?” Drift asked, his jovial nature forgotten.

 

“Patient confidentiality.” Ratchet answered, simply, dismissing questions from the back of his mind. He’d already told Drift that, if he wasn’t comfortable answering, he wouldn’t ask questions about his youth. About being raised by a gladiator who wrote manifestos, mechs who would later be the commanders of the Decepticon armies as his playmates and caretakers. It was understandable that he didn’t want to revisit those thoughts, not now, when he was still trying to understand himself.

 

“Ah. In heat again.” Drift muttered, and Ratchet sighed. So at least he knew that much about Ravage.

 

“That’s none of your business.”

 

Drift looked at the door again, before taking a long, slow invent and relaxing, smiling at Ratchet, pushing whatever discomfort he had with the cat aside. “True enough, it isn’t. But what is my business is that tonight, I heard that you’re free, and I think we should pick up a bottle of energon wine from Swerve’s and go back to my quarters...if you’d like that.” Ah, there was the Drift Ratchet was stuck with, grinning slyly and optics gleaming.

 

“...Help me finish organizing these reports, and I might just have time for that offer, kid.”

 

He could think about Drift’s reaction to Ravage later. For now, there was work to be done.

  
  


* * *

**The Past**

  
  


“It’s heat coding. Common enough in racing frametypes.” The medic said, flatly, and Megatron winced, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Adulthood had arrived for his creation like a high-speed collision, and between the last armor upgrades and a new, sudden streak of rebellious behavior, well...this was just one more thing Megatron had found himself entirely unprepared for.

 

Drift busied himself with sitting on the edge of the medical berth, kicking the legs of it irritably, his plating fluffed up and fans running on high to cool the overheating. “It sucks slag, is what it is!” He growled. “It’s too hot! And I can’t keep up with deleting all these stupid gestational system pings- ugh!” He flinched, mentally dismissing another handful of messages in his processor.

 

“What can we do?” Megatron asked, forcing his voice to stay smooth and low. He didn’t have heat coding, and lacking an actual youth, he’d found himself quite clueless with how to help beyond making sure that Drift was safe. Which was easy enough- others with the coding sniffed around Drift like they were looking for a tall drink of energon, and Megatron simply dismissed them with posturing and growls and, in a few cases, a few dents. Drift didn’t even seem to notice, so frustrated with himself.

 

“I can do a medical override, and show him how to override it himself.” The medic shrugged. “It’ll take two minutes at the most.”

 

Megatron politely looked away as the medic plugged into the port on the inside of Drift’s arm, waiting patiently as it was explained, eyeing the door. The last thing he wanted to think about was the possibility of his own creation becoming a creator, at this point. It was enough to know that the capability was there, waiting, but to think that he was finally physically able...well, Megatron cringed. Oh, the joys of creatorhood.

 

It wasn’t until they returned, Drift much calmer and running cooler, no longer broadcasting a lewd EM field that trailed after him, that Soundwave finally released Ravage, the feline grumbling miserably and stretching as they unfolded, sluggish. “Drift: No longer broadcasting. Ravage: Calmed?”

 

“Yes.” Ravage mumbled, breathing in deep, drawing air through those specialized sensors in his snout, deeply. Thank Primus for Soundwave offering to let him sleep through that. It was one thing to be so aware of another bots’ heat, but if Megtron had caught him sniffing around Drift, instinctively judging and watching him, well...he doubted their leader would have taken it well. “Why do racers have to broadcast so strongly? Ugh.” He snorted.

 

Rumble and Frenzy deployed then, and Frenzy playfully smacked Ravage’s shoulder, earning himself a growl. “I think it’s ‘coz they’re frickin’ pretty! Who _wouldn’t_ be watching that hot piece of plating?”

 

“Frenzy: Do not approach Drift flirtatiously. Please.” Soundwave warned, and Rumble laughed and shoved Frenzy’s shoulder as they started to chatter between themselves. Ravage simply relaxed and found a place in the shadows to curl up, trying to dismiss the fantasies he’d been entertaining about the racer. It was different, to see Drift as a fully-framed adult, not as some little mechlet who was pulling his tail or trying to ride on him like he was a turbopony. Different...and pleasant.

 

But he wasn’t about to go around getting on Megatron’s bad side, no. Even Soundwave wouldn’t be able to help him then.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**The Present**

 

Ravage had come to like Swerve’s. It was uncomfortable, in some ways, being out in the open like this with his attention deflectors inactive and people actually speaking to him, instead of him overhearing, but it was an easy way to gather up gossip on this ship. And he had to admit, Bluestreak and Swerve seemed all too content to keep a bowl filled for him, seeing him as an oddity that drew more attention (and thus, more patronage) to the bar.

 

So he perched on his barstool and lapped up energon, watching.

 

Bluestreak leaned over the bar in front of him, then, following his gaze to a corner booth where Cyclonus was brooding, trying to pretend that he wasn’t watching Tailgate and Getaway at a table with Skids and Brainstorm, who were all gesturing wildly as they spoke, and the minibot shook with laughter. “What’s the word, Tomcat?” Bluestreak grinned, and Ravage rolled his eyes, ignoring the earthly term.

 

“I miss being on a Decepticon ship.” Ravage muttered, a common enough sentiment from him, one that had long since made Bluestreak stop flinching and start smirking. “At least there, it was considered polite to start a fight if someone moved in on the bot you were courting. Here it’s all...drama. How can you stand it?”

 

Bluestreak laughed. “I guess we’re just used to it. What’re you saying, that Cyclonus should just ask Getaway to a brawl for Tailgate’s attention? Somehow...I don’t think the little guy would appreciate that.”

 

“It would at least be entertaining.” Now that got a laugh from Bluestreak, and Ravage chuckled deep in his chest, the sound coming out a stuttered purr. “Of course, if this were a decepticon ship, then they’d all get beat to slag for wasting energy on showing off instead of working. Or locked in a room together to work it out.”

 

“Hey, maybe Rodimus can learn something from Megatron after all.” Bluestreak suggested, teasingly. “I know that I’d like to see some mechs get shoved into a closet together and not let out until they actually admitted a thing or two.”

 

“And here I thought you’d already spent more than enough time in the storage room with Swerve.”

 

If Ravage could give a slag-eating grin with that muzzle, he was doing it down, and Bluestreak’s EM field flushed with embarrassment and glanced away. “Look, how were we supposed to know that you were hiding in there-”

 

“You weren’t _supposed_ to know. Believe me, I wish I’d picked  different place to hide, too.” They laughed between themselves, and Bluestreak refiled Ravage’s bowl before moving on to other customers, leaving the deployer alone to listen and drink. It was...relaxing, honestly, and Ravage felt himself forgetting about the awkward run-in with Drift earlier.

 

For all of twenty minutes, at least, before the racer himself walked into Swerve’s, Ratchet at his side. Ravage activated his attention deflectors with a thought, gearing them to Drift and Ratchet, and stayed quiet, wishing to go unnoticed. It worked, at least, the two of them getting a bottle from Swerve who saw them off with a coy smile, and Ravage watched as they left. Drift looked so different now, it always threw him off. Blockiness and gray-purple replaced with sleek lines and bold red accents.

 

“What was that all about?” Bluestreak suddenly asked. “Were you pulling the invisible cat act on them?” Ravage stayed silent, looking away moodily. “...Is this because of the whole Megatron-is-Drift’s-Carrier thing?” Ah, right, the whole ship knew about that now. It was...interesting, to say the least. Everybody wanted to know more and nobody was quite bold enough to ask.

 

“In a sense.” Ravage would at least give him that. “When he was young, I would often watch him when others were busy.” It was a calculated skill- give up enough information to satisfy, not enough to let them draw real conclusions. “You can imagine, we haven’t been on good terms for some time.”

 

“Ah.” Bluestreak nodded, and suddenly Swerve popped up at his side, elbowing him aside slightly and grinning wickedly at Ravage, a datapad in hand.

 

“Ravage, buddy! Pal! Friend-” He started, and Ravage’s body language flattened, eyes narrowing. This was never a good way to start a conversation with Swerve, but it promised something interesting, at least. “-Would you be interested in making a bet? Jackpot’s got a new round of ‘Who’s ‘Facing Who’ running, and you seem like a lucky mech to me.”

 

Ravage snorted out a laugh at that, and leaned his head down against his folded paws. “I could enter...but it would be unfair.” Smugly. “It wouldn’t be long before someone realized that and called the whole bet off.”

 

“What do you mean, unfair? Is this because you’re always snooping around in the vents, because Skids still does that and I haven’t taken him out of the betting pool yet.” Swerve tapped the datapad, but his visor was bright with curiosity. Ravage made a show of sniffing, loudly, and then yawning, the air alight with scent and taste to his heightened senses. He paused for a moment, processing everything as he’d learned to do- filter out the background scents- the smell of mechanical oils and the processed air onboard the ship, then start dividing them up into categories. Bots. Ozone. Fluids. Filter out the smell of energex and wine…

 

“Aquafend and Streetwise.” He announced, voice a low growl. “At the very least, within’ the last two cycles.”

 

Bluestreak and Swerve blinked, then looked down at the pad. “Oh, come on!” Swerve whined. “How could you possibly know? Did you see them?”

 

“The nose knows.” Ravage reached up and tapped his own snout delicately with a claw. “They both still have a bit of ozone in their field, and Aquafend reeks of Streetwise’s transfluid. I don’t think he’s even washed up beyond wiping himself down.” He pulled a face, making Bluestreak chuckle. “I’ll bet you that I’m right, at the very least.” If he could smirk with that muzzle, he was doing so now.

 

“Five shanix says you’re spouting slag.” Swerve muttered, and handed the pad off to Bluestreak as he left to go ask Aquafend and Streetwise if they wanted a refill...and to probe for information. Ravage squirmed a bit.

 

“So, he bet against them, didn’t he?”

 

“Yep. If they’re clanking, he loses twenty shanix. Well, twenty-five, now.” Bluestreak read off from the pad, smirking. “I make ten shanix! Nice! You’re sure about them?”

 

As if on cue, Swerve came shuffling back to the bar then, grumbling under his breath and wirelessly transferring five shanix to Ravage. “You’re right. That is unfair. It’s unfair and a violation of privacy-” He looked up, pleadingly, at the feline. “-And you have GOT to tell me what’s going on around here! Just think of the snooping you could do, I mean, you’re always snooping but what if you snooped for a greater cause! And what greater cause is there than bringing me interesting tidbits to regale my loving customers with?”

 

“I’ll think about it.” Ravage practically purred with contentment, a deep vibration in his words. It was nice to feel needed, and Swerve leaned over the bar.

 

“Reduced price drinks?”

 

“Make them free, and I’ll really consider it.”

 

“That’s robbery!”

 

“That’s me saving my tail for when everymech realizes that I’ve been poking my nose about in their business.” Ravage gave him a long, steady stare. He was allowed on the Lost Light, he had to remember, that didn’t mean he was welcome.

 

“Uuuugh...I’ll think about it, okay? Just tell me you’ll think about it too?”

 

Ravage at least gave that a nod, and Swerve went about his business happily chattering, and Bluestreak refilled Ravage’s bowl and moved on to other customers, subspacing the betting pool’s datapad after adding a single revision.

 

[RAVAGE / ???]

 

Hey, _anyone_ on the Lost Light was fair game.

 

* * *

**THE PAST**

  
  


“Leave me alone, racecar.” Ravage growled as he padded down the hall, body language held low and footfalls silenced. He would’ve hidden, but right now he knew that Drift would’ve found him anyways. And the ventilation shafts weren’t accessible here. Nowhere to avoid the other mechs in these narrow subterranean halls, and of course Drift had gotten left behind while they set up an arena again. Of course. Because he couldn’t possibly have the place to himself for once, no matter how soothing it would’ve been to Ravage’s frayed nerves and the overheating creeping through his systems.

 

He wouldn’t have minded going into heat so much if he could just stop broadcasting, and until Soundwave returned he wasn’t about to poking around for a medic to override the coding. Not when he knew exactly how easy it’d be for these back-alley and black-market medics to mess with his processor in the process. Sure, being part of Soundwave’s cadre offered him some protection, but it would never be enough, for him.

 

“Stop following me.” He hissed, tail lashing, bladed tip dangerously near Drift’s knees.

 

“Don’t wanna.” Drift grinned, cheeky, a definite bounce in his step as he fell into pace behind the felinoid, those yellow eyes of his glimmering. “Come on, Ravage! We used to be together all the time...when’s the last time we just hung out?”

 

“You were a sparkling, who needed to be watched so that you wouldn’t get yourself into trouble. Although I seem to remember you always found ways to get into trouble, regardless.” Ravage snorted, glancing back over his shoulder. “It was easier to keep you out of trouble when you were small enough I could pick you up.”

 

“Aww, I wouldn’t dream of getting you into trouble now.” Drift bent forwards, arms outstretched, and Ravage whirled on him, sitting down and baring his teeth, giving the racer a pause. “Oop.”

 

“Do. Not. Pick. Me. Up.” Ravage kept his tone flat. “...I know exactly why you’re following me, and so do you. And I’m not interested.”

 

Drift shifted back, hands falling to his sides...and frowned, shifting his weight from pede to pede. “...sorry. I just thought, with you broadcasting-”

 

“I can’t do my own overrides.” Ravage explained sharply, and Drift’s body language suddenly fell from confident to slack, nervous. He looked outright...embarrassed, and Ravage admittedly felt a little sorry for him. If things were different, maybe, if Drift hadn’t been Megatron’s creation...he turned away, pointedly. Best not to think about it- Drift was a gorgeous mech at the best of times, and he could recall when Drift was on his own heat, the desire to follow him, to wander at his heels… “Don’t assume.” He warned, and walked away.

 

And then he realized that Drift was still following him.

 

“Drift…” He warned, tensely. “You’re still following me.”

 

“Yeah, I am.” Drift’s grin was still there...but it was different now, determined. “You know, Rumble and Frenzy were talking about you a while back. We got some cubes of energex out, and they said you were pretty interested when I was in heat.” He leaned over Ravage as they walked, confident. “So, you know, if you ever want to...I’m available.”

 

Even Ravage couldn’t resist pausing, then.

 

“...You don’t mean that.” He settled on a response, looking Drift over again. “You’re just picking up on an open EM field while charged up.”

 

“They said you liked my finials, said they reminded you of cute ears.” To emphasize, Drift reached up and prodded the tips of those swept-back helm spines with his fingertips. Ravage was going to kill Rumble and Frenzy. He was going to kill them, this time, he was sure of it, placing a paw over his muzzle in embarrassment. “I’m flattered! I honestly am. I mean, I’ve always thought you were pretty amazing, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about taking you to berth-”

 

“What?” Ravage stiffened.

 

“-what?” They stared at each other, Drift with unguarded interest and eagerness, and Ravage with...confusion. “Look, I’ve known you my whole life, and I know a lot of bots see you as a mechanimal, but you’re really not. You’re kinda...mean, and smart, and snarky when you wanna be, and I like all those things.” He held up a finger, counting off on his hands as he started to list items. “I like how your aft and tail does this little wiggle when you’re antsy or happy, and I think it’s really cute when you just curl up and nap places, and not gonna lie I like your teeth-”

 

“Stop. What?” Ravage’s audials flattened, nervously, and Drift shrugged. “I...look, I want to, Drift. I really do.” It felt strange just to admit it, his eyes sweeping over Drift’s armor, trying to ignore the sudden eagerness in the racer’s expressions. “...but Megatron would offline me.”

 

“I never said he had to know.” The racer winked. Winked!

 

“He’d find out!”

 

“He hasn’t found out that I’m not sealed anymore.” Drift teased, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, cocky. It got Ravage to peer curiously, though. He felt that he would have known, or Soundwave would have, but then again…Drift was getting very good at keeping secrets. “What? Look, who I’m fragging isn’t any of his business, and Primus help me, it’ll stay that way.”

 

“Who is it?”

 

“Gasket.”

 

Ravage pulled a face. “Your friend from Dead End? The empty?” He couldn’t really speak poorly of the poor mech. Primus know he’d found Soundwave in similar condition, back in the day, but Drift’s escapades in Dead End were already becoming something of a risky, uncertain business. Especially with the friends he was making, there. “I wouldn’t have expected. I figured you more for other racers.”

 

“Well, apparently not.” He gave Ravage a long, intense look. “Come on. It’ll get your heat over faster, and it’ll be fun.” His engines revved in an obscene purr, and Ravage tried very hard to look disinterested. It wasn’t easy, when he turned away, his nose drew him right back towards Drift, smelling his exhaust, sensitive to the EM field of someone high-energy and interested. “Come on...I’m young, impressionable, foolhardy- you’re, uh…” Drift tried to settle on something that couldn’t be heard as insulting.

 

“...Take your time.” Ravage sighed.

 

“I’m thinking! Okay, I’m not great at the flirting bit. Usually I just gotta flash my winning smile and rev the engines.” The speedster gestured grandly, still grinning down at Ravage. “I’m trying to say that you’re...experienced, or sexy?” Ah, there was a wince. Ravage stared him down, very still, save for a slight flick of his tail. “...Is it too late for me to pick you up with a ‘ravage me’ line?”

 

Ravage thought, and thought hard. He was struggling to keep his ventilations silent, trying desperately to cool down even though his plating damn near burned against his protoform. He was too small to have the surface area to cool off on his own, but if he could just get somewhere cool he’d calm down. Or...he could always dispel that energy another way, burn off the charge by sharing it. It was tempting. Oh, so tempting, every time, even since he’d learned to control himself, to just wait his heat out. Another long look over Drift, from the tips of his helm to the heels of his pedes- and Drift was quite a temptation.

 

“...If you’re gonna tell me to get lost again, do it before I make a bigger aft of myself?” Drift’s smile was wavering, genuine nervousness creeping into his expression. Now that was endearing...Ravage absently considered when Drift had been younger, a feisty little mechlet who was always trying to pull his tail or goad him into playing tricks. This was different, now, a grown mech, one who was getting into completely new kinds of trouble.

 

Maybe Ravage could do with a little trouble, said the heat coding. Drift was a fine mechen, spry and charged up, and more than eager enough to echo Ravage’s own broadcasting.

 

“I mean, if you really don’t want to, then fine, I can go find someone else but I was really hoping to-” Drift started.

 

“Yes.” Ravage interrupted.

 

“-what?” Drift stared, then laughed, and moved to scoop Ravage up into his arms, only for the felinoid to hop away. “Yes!”

 

“Yes, but no picking me up! I’m not some mini you can just cart around.”

 

“Right! Right. Where are we going?”

 

“Your room.” And he padded off, quickly, with Drift close behind, barely restraining himself even though his vents churned and his engine roared. _Loud._ Ravage thought. _Good thing nobody else is around to hear._

 

By the time they burst into Drift’s room and the door was slammed shut behind them and locked, it had turned into a real chase. Ravage bounded up onto his berth and then off, over his head when Drift grabbed for him, laughing. “C’mere!” Drift yelped, and Ravage jumped onto his back, slinking over his shoulder to nip at his chin.

 

“Make me.” Ravage’s voice came out a husky growl, half-static with need. How long had it been since he’d last done this, he wondered, when had it ever been this fun? Drift twisted, trying to grab him, and managed to run his hands firmly over Ravage’s spine when he landed back on the berth, drawing a deep purr of delight. He hooked his fingers into the joints of Ravage’s thighs and pulled him back, leaning over him.

 

“What do you want?” Drift sounded breathless, strained. At least he was considerate, Ravage would give him that, arching up under him to press against him, plating transferring charge with a tingle. “Oh! C’mon, Ravage...I don’t know what to do for you. Tell me.” He slid his hands lower, sliding them over Ravage’s underbelly, servos scraping at where the armor jointed. “You like this?”

 

“Yesssss!” He hissed, trying to press down into those hands more. Nobody touched him, no-one was allowed. Ravage did not want to be touched if it wasn’t necessary, but right now it was all he wanted. More touching, more petting, just more. Drift bent over him, trapping Ravage underneath his bulk, nipping at his audials and the back of his neck. “Bite.” Ravage tried to order, half-snarled. “Bite me. More.”

 

“Mmh?” Drift didn’t question beyond his curious little noise, and when he bit down on Ravage’s spinal column this time- he didn’t hold back anything, and Ravage keened. Drift had sharp, sharp teeth- racer’s teeth, and the powerful jaws of a miner. _Primus bless mixed builds_ , Ravage thought for a moment, before realizing that his interfacing panels had retracted and his spike was pressurizing right into Drift’s hand. Drift bit again, this time clamping down on an audial flare until it dented. That was going to sting, and Ravage didn’t care.

 

“Rrgh! Rhhah- sorry, I haven’t- rrrhn-” Ravage’s voice kept cutting out, interrupted by growls and snarls. This body wasn’t made to vocalize, it was modified to do so, and at times like this, it showed. “It’s been a...a while. Rhn. A long while.” He tried not to think about past times, and it was easy enough, with the distraction of here and the present. Drift’s hand was large against him, and Ravage was suddenly aware of how small he was, compared to the bulky racer.

 

“S’okay. I’m a racer! We do everything fast.” Drift teased, shivering as he palmed Ravage’s spike, giving it a slow stroke, curious even through arousal. “Oh, wow.” He whispered, swallowing hard. Slender, with a bulbous end...covered in small spines that tickled over his fingertips, and he could just imagine what that would feel like over interior nodes, his own panels aching to be released. Not yet, he reminded himself. He gave the pointed tip a playful rub, drawing an animal cry from Ravage.

 

Ravage pushed back against him again, insistently, his cooling vents a high-pitched whine compared to Drift’s roaring fans now. Another stroke of Ravage’s spike, and he realized he could feel lubricant dripping down, over his fingers, from his opened valve. Drift shifted back, swallowing hard, trying to will his spike to depressurize before his panel popped open, his fingers stroking back over the soft, slick mesh of Ravage’s valve.

 

“Oh.” He breathed, suddenly far too aware of how small Ravage was compared to him...there was less difference between minibots and full-sized and even larger bots than one might think, interfacing equipment wasn’t exactly proportional, and modded equipment was a market that never stopped booming...but Ravage was very sleek under him, writhing and wet and far, far too small. “Uh, Ravage, wait, we gotta switch.”

 

“Whurrr?” Ravage growled, trying to squirm back against the stimulation until Drift held him securely by pressing a hand to his stomach, trapping him up against Drift, and pulled his other hand from his array. “No! Don’t ssstop- fraggit- hrrghar!”

 

“I don’t-! Look, you’re...you’re way too small for me.”

 

“I’m not.” Ravage panted.

 

“I don’t think I could get two servos in you-” He held more firmly as Ravage tried to twist, all his earlier restraint long and well forgotten. “-and I don’t want to hurt you- slag it!” He cursed, as Ravage twisted his head back and managed to nip at his jaw again. With a practiced motion, self-defense learned out of necessity when one’s carrier was a gladiator, he pulled Ravage from him and twisted him around, pinning him down to the berth with a hand on his chestplates. “Ravage!”

 

“Whurrr-” Ravage purred, deeply, his whole body rumbling, charged enough that his plating sparked where it made contact. He looked so different, like this, stretched out on his back, relatively unarmored underside carelessly exposed, his array in full view. It was a good view, Drift had to admit, one he hated to draw his eyes away from- that sleek spike sparsely adorned with small, dim biolights, the valve simple and matte in coloration...no, Drift reminded himself, looking up at Ravage’s jaw.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He repeated.

 

This time, Ravage seemed to listen, stilling and calming down, even though his slender body was still heaving with ventilations. “Wh...what?”

 

“You’re too small. Spike me, instead.” He panted, squirming over him. “C’mon.”

 

“What?!” Ravage gawked at him, those red eyes wide- but his spike twitched, beads of lubrication dribbling off the tip. “But-”

 

“No buts.” Drift released Ravage and crawled onto the berth. “C’mon, lets do this! I’m all charged up and sweet Primus, _I’m ready for those spines_.” Ravage stared at Drift’s wide grin a moment longer, before realizing he should close his maw when the click of a released panel and the smell of Drift’s lubrication hit him, and hit him hard. “How do you want me?”

 

Ravage could barely keep his head together while vocalizing, scrambling to his feet. “On- on hands and knees? Hrrrhar- yes good-” He mumbled, as Drift arranged himself. The speedster was still bigger, but he could manage, scrabbling against the armor of his back with paws made clumsy by lust and overwhelming programming. Drift pressed his aft up, swallowing hard as the narrow tip of Ravage’s spike slid over his outer node. “Rhhn!”

 

“Oh, frag-” Drift groaned, eyes going wide as Ravage slid home, slender enough that pressing into Drift’s well-lubed port was easy, with his size. But when Ravage shifted back, and those small, flexible spikes that he’d been so curious about before dragged over internal nodes, scraping at his inner meshwork...well. “OH, FRAG-!” Drift howled, and chewed his lipplates between deep moans and the roar of his engines, Ravage’s own rumbling purrs and harsh yowls adding to the noise. “Oooh-hohhh- pits, Ravage, why didn’t we do this sooner?!”

 

Ravage couldn’t answer, even if he’d wanted to, instead he settled for letting out an outright roar, and hunching over Drift to nip and scratch at his plating, eagerly driving his hips in short and sharp motions, reveling in the slippery heat around his spike. This was good, he could think that well enough, and he was going to enjoy this when he could.

 

Of course, at the moment, he couldn’t consider that it might be able to happen again. Not with this much focus on here, now, and the sheer delight of a good frag.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you were curious, I actually drew Ravage's array a lil while ago!
> 
> http://agatharights.tumblr.com/post/125179291545/nsfw-nsfw-nsfw-nsfw-nsfw-i-was-gonna-draw-the
> 
> Why yes. It IS a spike with spikes!


End file.
